Work Text:
George scrubbed over his face with his hands, eyes blurring from exhaustion from staring at a screen for the last five hours. The cursor in front of him blinked tauntingly as the uncompleted lab report sat in front him, data still tangled together and conclusions only half formed. His lack of sleep from the previous night was making itself known, the endless amount of work assigned by his supervisor Toto eating away at him. In the back of his mind, George could hear Toto's voice critiquing every sentence he wrote out, deleted and then rewrote. However, in the front of his mind, all George could focus on was the loud exclamations coming from the living room of the flat, which he blamed for the pounding in his head.
George would be the first to admit that he and his flatmate weren't the best of friends, and never had been. When George first moved into number 363, he arrived carrying cardboard boxes and stacks of books that had been meticulously itemised before being crammed into the boot of Alex's car and driven across London.
Moving closer to the research labs of Kings College had made perfect sense. His role as a PhD student meant that living within walking distance of the university from the flat in Southbank was the obvious choice. Coupled with Lando's glowing recommendation of the man looking for a flatmate, George had felt genuinely optimistic about leaving behind his cramped five-person flat in south London. Looking back now, George could only marvel at his own optimism. With the benefit of hindsight, he knew Lando was never to be trusted.
George had been in the middle of unpacking each box when he had first met Max. Sat cross-legged on the wooden floor of the kitchen, he unpacked his glass tupperware containers, when he suddenly hear a creak from behind. Looking over his shoulder he was met with the sight of a tall, broad man with scruffy blond hair in navy tracksuit bottoms that were worn at the ends and a grey t-shirt that stretched impressively over his chest. Though George would never admit it to anyone, he felt his heart beat faster as the other man shook off excess water from the drizzle outside from his hair, action resembling a lion shaking out it's mane.
"Hello, you must be George." Max wandered over to where George was sat on the floor and held out a hand for him to clasp in greeting. George felt tingles travel up his arm as he locked eyes with the other man, stormy-blue eyes meeting his and a smile crept onto his face at the foreign lisp. "You don't travel light, huh?" Max reached down and George felt his heart lurch for the wrong reasons as he watched him toss up a box labelled 'this way up' the wrong way round.
"Oh, could you not, sorry. It's just, it's meant to be the other way round and it's got fragile glass in it." George stared up at the other man above him through his long eyelashes, one arm reaching up to steady the box that was resting for too languidly in one of Max's hands, back twisting to an awkward position.
"Damn, calm down, princess, Lando said you could be a bit touchy."
George felt all the heat of attraction he initially felt be replaced by the hot flush of anger. He felt his cheeks turn red as he pushed himself up from his position and took the box securely back into his own arms with two hands and placed it back in its position on the floor. "I am not being 'touchy' but everything has its place and some things are delicate. And don't call me princess please."
Max scoffed out a laugh and looked him up and down, before turning on his heel and sauntering off. "Whatever you say, princess." George stared at his back as he left and fought the urge to throw the same box he just placed down with such care at the other man's broad retreating back, as he glowered at him.
From then, the two had been as incompatible as oil and water. It wasn't that Max was a bad person. Obviously. However, that did not mean that they got on. Where George would follow his meticulously planned meals for the week, Max would bring in takeout that stunk the kitchen up (George would pretend it was the smell that bothered him and not the envy he would feel when he looked at his own freshly prepped baked salmon and spinach). Where George needed at least 6 hours of sleep to function, Max would be up on video games will the wee hours of the morning and still work as a software engineer during the day from home.
Which is what brought us to the current situation, as George uncurled his body from the office chair at his desk, flannel pyjama bottoms straightening out, navy jumper hung uneven across his collarbones. He fought a yawn trying to escape as the vein above his eyebrow twitched in annoyance. Pushing open the door of his room, the shouting from the sofa became louder as Max came into view. Sprawled across the sofa with one leg slung across it, Max's gaze was focused on the TV, controller in hand, as his fingers expertly swept across it. He had a headset on that he was yelling into, body twitching at particularly exciting moments, as he fought off what looked like little men to George on the screen. His shouts turned to ones of annoyance as George stood in front of the screen, hands on his hips.
"Hey, what are you doing, I've just died because of you!" Max moved into a sitting position, pushing one side of his headphones off his ear. "Sorry guys, this dickhead just ruined the round." He spoke into the microphone.
"If only you had died for real, then I might actually get some peace and quiet around here. How many times, Max, have I asked you to be quieter when I'm trying to work?" George held firm in his position, trying to look as threatening as possible in his fuzzy socks, glaring at him, whilst he felt his teeth grind together.
Max muttered goodbyes down the headset before ripping it off and turning his stare back to George. "George, I get it when you're trying to sleep but come on. Am I not allowed to talk to people at any time of the day?"
George pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes and fought the urge to scream. He was so tired and so fed up and nothing was going right. To his great annoyance, he could feel the familiar pinprick of tears start to well up in the corner of his eyes and quickly blinked them away; he always got overemotional when he was tired. "No, no, you are, but I'm trying to get this done and all I can hear is you yelling in here and I'm not trying to be difficult but please, please do you think you could be a little bit quieter?"
George hadn't yet removed his hands from his face when he heard the background music of the game cut off, before he felt a pair of hands wrap around his forearms and gently move them down. "Jesus, princess, ok, whatever you want, you're so overdramatic." George forced himself to look up and meet Max's gaze, his face stony except for a concerned crinkle of the skin around his eyes. "Your fucking boss works you too hard and then I have to deal with you when you get like this. Come on, its break time for tired Toto victims."
"You could've been a tired Toto victim." George replied almost petulantly, as he felt himself being shoved from the sofa to the kitchen counter with pointed fingers in his back. George had been picked up after his masters by Toto Woolf, head of the biochemical engineering department, and was apart of his research team, whilst completing his pHd. George remembered Toto walking around grim for two weeks after failing to poach a computer science student to the team, only to later learn that same student was Max. According to Toto, this was a generational talent who would've made all the difference in the development of the new technology they were working on. George sometimes questioned that when he saw the other man eating a pot noodle at 2 am. Instead, the other man went straight into a software engineering role, leaving his weekends free to play video games at top volume.
"Well then we'd both look like walking zombies and that wouldn't help anyone. Besides, I hate that guy. Even more now." Despite the mean inflection in Max's voice, the prodding in his back was surprisingly gentle as George got shoved into the kitchen counter. Max moved around him and started the kettle, pulling George's favourite mug with a cat stretched out across the ceramic from the drying rack and sticking a tea bag in it. Soon, hot water was poured into the mug with just the right amount of milk and the steaming mug was pressed into his hands. Fingers curling around it, George pressed the warm drink close to his chest and felt some of the tension uncurl from his chest at the familiar smell. Max cocked his head and gave George a rare smile that made the bottom of his stomach flip. "Are we human again?"
George failed to bite back his own laugh at the other man's teasing tone. "Oh, fuck off Verstappen." George hung his head low to hide the smile that was taking over his face, as he felt the other man's eyes on him. "Ok, back to the grindstone for me."
Max leaned on the kitchen counter as he watched George's retreating form. "Yeah, just make sure you don't get caught in it as well."
--
"George, I need you to process the data for prototype 16 and get it ready for analysis."
George looked up from where he was hunched over his computer at his desk in the research facilities. The space smelt dully of caffeine and something like vinegar, probably from when a beaker of ethanoic acid had been spilt and seeped into the carpets. The fluorescent lights shone down brightly from above, a stark blue light and the section of computer monitors were alight with similar tones. He loved studying in London but there were moments when he wished he got to see more of it from the outside compared to through a window, a small, rickety thing with a rotting wooden frame by his seat of choice. Looking up at the lined face of Toto Woolf, George felt his heart sink at the new added workload.
"But I thought that we already processed the data from the most recent round of tests?"
"Ah, I gave it to Kimi to try but he did the wrong calculations so it needs to be done again." Kimi Antonelli was a masters student who had been taken under Woolf's wing for a trial period. What he lacked in skills, he made up for in personality, George thought privately, but there were moments like this that made it harder to deal with, even if George knew it wasn't his fault. "I need you to do this before you go home this evening so it's ready tomorrow morning for our meeting."
George locked down the groan of frustration that threatened to escape him, teeth grinding together, as he looked at the raw data that had just appeared in his inbox. Casting his eyes over it, he closed his own pHd research, knowing that it wouldn't be touched in preference of his new task.
"George."
"Hm?" George looked up from his computer screen to Toto's stern face, deep creases embedded in the other man's frown.
"I trust that this won't be an issue?" George found himself wondering in that moment exactly why Toto chose him to be one of his research assistants, not for the first time. Realistically, he knew it was because he was excellent at what he did. That didn't change the fact that as of recently he seemed even more detached than usual, with none of the warmth or regard he seemed to give others.
"No. Of course not, no issue at all. I'll start on it now."
And that was how George found himself interpreting the squiggles on his screen, unmoving, as the sun outside slowly began to dip below the horizon. From his seat, George could see the light reflected off of the Thames, bridges trailing across the winding river. He pulled his fleeced jacket closer around himself, fighting the cold threatening to seep through the cracks in the slightly run-down room. Taylor Swift blasted through his headphones as he subconsciously hummed along, which is why he got such a shock when he felt a tap on his shoulder.
"Ah! Kimi! Oh my God, don't creep up on me like that."
Kimi stood before him, smiling sheepishly at George's minor heart attack. The boy was bundled up in a comically thick puffer jacket, never quite adapting to the 'arctic conditions' of the UK after moving from Italy. George would always laugh at him but privately agreed that for what was meant to be a warmer part of the UK, it was too chilly. He knew Max would just say that it was because he ate like a stick insect and quashed down his smile at the thought.
"Ah, sorry George. You were in your own world." One hand reached up behind his head of curls to awkwardly scratch the back of his neck. "And, uh, I'm sorry about the data mix-up. I was going to re-do it but Toto said that he would just get you to fix it." George smiled at the rushed explanation that was quickly delivered in one breathe. "But, here, I bring you good coffee from the stall in the market by the river, the man made it fresh just for me, and I have the little seashell chocolates you like."
Kimi proudly flung the box onto the table and pressed a hot takeaway cup into George's hand. George inhaled the aromatic smell of roasted beans emanating from the drink and gave a slightly dramatic sigh. "Thank you, Kimi, that's very sweet of you but you really didn't need to." George's statement was dampened by the large swig of coffee he took. "I'll tell you what though, it is bloody good. The chocolates though, you really didn't need to."
Kimi hopped from foot to foot excitedly as he pocked at them. "No, no, its important, it keeps your strength up. I just wanted to say thank you and sorry before I go. How late will you stay?" Kimi peered over at the blinking computer monitors that still held half finished work scrawled across them.
"Eh, shouldn't be anything crazy Kimi, don't worry about it." George wasn't lying when he said that. It would be a later night than he wanted originally, but nothing that would be too bad.
Kimi looked at him skeptically, doubt creeping onto his expression before he finally seemed to accept it. "If you're sure." He turned and moved towards the door, fiddling with his phone, texting someone before calling over his shoulder. "Night night George."
"Goodnight, Kimi." He turned back to his desk, occasionally taking large gulps of the frothy coffee next to him. As he worked, time passed, the light fading to the deeper violet hues of dusk, as street lamps came on, illuminating the dark sky with pools of yellow light.
When he finally shut of his computers and stretched his arms above his head, joints popping satisfyingly, the clock read that it had just passed ten. Pulling all his items haphazardly into his leather rucksack that had once been Alex's before he stole it, he reached for his phone. On the screen there was one text message waiting, sent a little after Kimi left.
Max Verstappen
r u alive
George allowed himself to roll his eyes at the somewhat blunt message.
George Russell
I am thank you, but with a message like that would it make a difference if I wasn't.
His phone buzzed almost immediately after he sent the message.
Max Verstappen
mate you're younger than me text normally
i heard the big bad wolf came for you
George Russell
Kimi told you?
Yeah, but I just finished, coming home now.
Max Verstappen
kid felt bad i think
said u looked crushed
Kimi and Max had apparently become fast friends in the computer science department as two foreigners who found a lot in common that they could complain about about England. Now, it meant that Kimi could get advice from two of his favourite people, even if they didn't get along themselves.
George Russell
It was fine, but glad to be leaving.
As George strolled along the embankment, red buses rolled past, carrying other tired workers out of central London, the low rumbles of their engines echoing into the evening. Crossing the river, the Thames beside him glittered beneath the streetlights, each ripple scattering ribbons of gold and white across the dark water. On the opposite bank, office buildings still glowed with the stubborn lights of those yet to escape their desks. He crossed Waterloo Bridge at an unhurried pace, the cool breeze rolling off the river and tugging at the curls that had escaped his hood. Ahead, the London Eye shone against the deepening navy sky, while clusters of tourists lingered along the South Bank despite the late hour. By the time George turned off the riverside and onto the quieter residential streets surrounding the flat, the bustle of central London had faded into little more than a distant hum. His shoulders ached beneath the weight of his rucksack and he felt the day's exhaustion and hunger seep into his body.
As he finally pushed through the stiff door to Flat 363 with his shoulder, he allowed them to sag as he kicked off his shoes and shoved them into place. He darted into his own room and quickly changed into a pair of tracksuit bottoms and the softest jersey shirt he owned, thin from frequent wear. Dragging his bag by it's handle, he continued into the open communal area, where he stopped in his tracks. The smell in the living room made him salivate, greasy takeout pizza and garlic flooding his senses. Max was sat on the sofa, scrolling on his phone with a half-eaten pizza in a cardboard box and several smaller ones surrounding him. He looked up at the sound of George entering, before sitting up minutely straighter.
"You look happy." Max shifted to the left side of the sofa, making space for George on the other side, which he gratefully sunk into. The squishy pillows beneath him enveloped him, as he felt himself go boneless. "So, what is it tonight? Boiled rice and chicken?"
George didn't reply past a muffled groan, head tipped back as he stared up at the ceiling before he felt a heavy thunk and something warm on his lap. Looking down, he saw the remaining pizza and turned to stare at the man next to him. Max didn't acknowledge him, gaze fixed on the TV as he scrolled through movies. "You're grumpy when you're hungry and I ordered the wrong size anyway."
"Max, its fine, besides you can just save it for tomorrow." Despite his protests, George hadn't actually made any move to remove the warm pizza from where he was cradling it.
"Eh, it won't taste as good tomorrow." Max finally settled on some random action movie, Tom Cruise rolling across the screen. "There are wings and chips as well if you want."
On a normal day, George argued with himself that he would've protested more. However, the hunger in his stomach quickly made his desicion for him and he began chomping his way through the pizza in front of him, the dough filling the crawling hunger in his stomach. A glass of water was pressed into his hand from his right and he felt his head throb at the sudden hydration as he downed it in one. Once he started feeling more human, he became aware of how weird the whole situation was. Usually he and Max struggled to co-exist across the whole flat, let alone the same room, but here they were. Maybe it could be put down to the tiredness racking through George's body, maybe Max also had a stressful day, but George wasn't going to question it. He sat plowing through the wings, occasionally thrusting the box in Max's general direction as an offering.
"Oh, Kimi got me these as well as a thank you." George fished out the delicate little chocolates and slammed them down between the two of them, adding his own offering to their horrifically unhealthy meal. Max hummed in response and peeled the box open.
George focused on the film in front of him, where Tom Cruise was currently in a massive fight. "You know, I had the biggest crush on him when I was 13. I thought he was sooo hot." George gestured to the screen, dragging out the 'o' sound.
Max's head jerked in his direction. "Who, Tom Cruise?" Max stared at the screen, silent for a moment before his eyes flicked back to George. He wrinkled his nose. "He's not that good looking."
George stared at him with a disbelieving expression and a surprised laugh escaped him. "Oh, come on. He's Tom Cruise! Look at that face."
Max huffed and sunk backwards, arms coming up to crossover his chest defensively. "He's too short for you." The reply came out muffled and almost sulky, if George's ears didn't deceive him. "He wouldn't even be able to pick you up."
George swung his legs onto the sofa and curled into a crescent shape. "Yeah, well, I kinda gave up on that being a possibility once I hit six foot." His feet crept across the sofa, tucking under Max's legs, seeking warmth. He burrowed deeper and deeper into the sofa, missing the way Max stared at him before looking back to the movie. Silence took over except for the occasional sound of gunshots and groans coming out from the small TV.
As the scenes before him continued, George felt his eyes grow heavier and heavier, drowsiness creeping into the edges of his vision. His limbs started feeling heavy and led-like, as his head tipped backwards, supported by the random mismatched collection of pillows they had acquired over the years. As his eyes closed, he felt a hand come down and gently hold his ankle, unmoving except for a thumb absently stocking back and forth, before his breathing slowed and he finally drifted off to sleep.
--
When George woke the next morning, it was in his bed.
His alarm was blaring absently in the background, as he buried his face deeper into the pillow beneath him, hiding from the light streaming in through the open window. He suppressed the urge to groan as he haphazardly flung his hand out to where his phone continued to vibrate, hitting it till if finally stopped. Dragging himself out of bed he went through his morning routine on autopilot, moving between the minuscule bathroom to the kitchen like a drifting spectre.
It was only when he was halfway through his weetabix that he realised he had no recollection of going to bed last night. He stared down the corridor to where his and Max's rooms were opposite each other, the two doors separated by only a few feet. The sofa where he remembered falling asleep last night was the same as usual, the cramped two-seater grey and faded, the coffee table clear of all evidence of their shared dinner. The only difference was his work bag proper in front of it, zipped shut and ready, not the tipped over pile he had left it in last night.
George felt his face flush hot at the realisation that Max had not only... dealt with him whilst he was asleep but cleaned up everything as well. His stomach flipped and he felt his heart rate rise for reasons he didn't want to consider.
Before he could dwell on it any further, the clock on the wall chimed and George was broken out of his stupor. Shoving his feet into his worn leather shoes, he grabbed his bag and flung his dark overcoat on, rushing out the door.
--
"Do not put that down the sink, in the biohazard waste, please."
George moved forward as fast as possible without running to where one of the first year undergraduates was about to chuck a beaker full of chemicals down the lab sink. Being a TA was an unavoidable part of doing his pHd research and usually he didn't mind it too much. However, it didn't mean he didn't question whether or not the lot of them actually listened to his incredibly detailed and well thought-through safety briefings at the beginning of each practical.
As the students filed out one by one, he moved any stray pieces of equipment into their correct positions for the lab technicians, fingers working swiftly with the knowledge of the routine. Switching off the lights as he walked out, he suddenly heard someone call out his name.
"George!" Looking up, he saw Alex waving across the herd of first years rushing out of the labs. As the crowd slowly thinned out, he made his way over and pulled George into a close hug, which he reciprocated.
"Hey, how are you?"
The pair started walking out of the labs. "Good, good, all this research is killing me but it's whatever." Alex gave his characteristic grin that hadn't changed since George first met him. The pair had been flatmates in their very first year, along with Lando, the three quickly becoming fast friends. George was grateful that Alex had also stayed on to do a doctorate, not quite ready to not see his best friend every other day. "Lily's been complaining that I'm apparently now sleep talking about referencing. What about you? How's my favourite married couple."
George felt himself freeze up, thinking to the previous night. Which was silly really. It wasn't like anything at all happened. Two flatmates sharing dinner was an exceptionally normal thing to do. Honestly, the way the pair of them darted around each other like rival animals to avoid starting an argument was probably stranger to the outside observer. That said, to George it didn't feel strange; it was just how they had always worked. Still, George couldn't do anything to stop the lurch deep in his stomach at the thought of the warmth and comfort he felt last night, the phantom grip wrapping around his ankle.
"-George? Hey, earth to George?"
"Sorry, sorry, I just got distracted." George shook his head, attempting to clear out his mind. "Nothing new." The words fell heavy on his tongue, not quite a lie but certainly an emission of something - what though, George wasn't quite sure. "Max is still Max and I am still me."
Alex's grin grew impossibly wider, taking on a teasing edge. "Honestly, you two. I'm waiting for the day I get a call from you saying you decked him. Or the other way round." He rolled his eyes affectionally as George elbowed him in the side. "Funny thing is, Lily swears that you too are actually a perfect match." George stared at him in disbelief as Alex kept walking. "Says all the bickering is just foreplay."
George gapped at him like a fish, brain buffering. Alex, seemingly oblivious to his friends distress, suddenly turned to him, just as they exited the building. "Oh, by the way, Lando told me to tell you and Max that he's having a flat party this weekend. Says and I quote 'you better turn up or I'll get Max to do a gaming marathon with me'."
"Ok. Ok. That's fine. I better get going, I, erm-" George started to back away, eager to get out of the conversation, cheeks rushing red hot despite the cold temperature outside. "I'll be sure to mention it to Max, but I'll see you later!" George waved goodbye as he turned on his heel and scrambled away, leaving Alex stood in front of the door, bemused by his best friend's behaviour.
--
When George arrived home, the flat was silent.
Thinking Max must be in his room doing work, George gently toed off his shoes and straightened them into place, before walking down the corridor to the kitchen. Instead, he saw Max sat on one of the bar stools, shovelling down what looked like a bowel of pasta, face fixed firmly downwards towards his food.
"Hey." George said quietly as he went to pour himself a glass of water, being met with a short grunt of acknowledgement. "Alex said to tell you that Lando's having a flat party on Saturday and we're invited."
"I know, he already texted me." Max didn't look up from where he was staring at the counter as he replied, tone short and sharp.
George felt himself stop and the quick delivery, glass raised halfway to his mouth, bright blue eyes unblinking. "Oh. Sorry, I just didn't think you knew. Are you ok?"
Max ignored his question at the end, still not looking at him. "Why, because Princess George knows everything and nobody else could possibly know what's going on?"
George felt himself recoil backwards in shock, surprise quickly rewriting itself anger across his face. "Are you sure you're all right, mate?" He placed his glass down with some force, the glass ringing out against the counter, lips pursed.
"Oh my god, just fuck off George. I don't need this right now." Max finally looked up at him, irritation painted across his face, brow set heavy with a glare.
George felt his breathe stop at the hostile words. Obviously it was not the first time they had fought, but for some reason George felt hurt well up in his chest in a way that hadn't happened before, different to the usual agitation he felt with Max. Maybe it was the difference to the small evening of peace they had had the night before, or maybe it was the meaner nature of Max's words, not just day-to-day annoyance.
Swallowing down the lump in his throat, he moved his half-finished glass to the sink, turning his back on Max. "Whatever." He quickly grabbed his bag and scurried out of the kitchen towards his room. "Speak to me once you've sort yourself out." He murmured under his breath on the way out, before closing his door fully. Dumping his bag by his bed, he hurled himself onto it, cheap mattress bouncing comically around him. Allowing himself a dramatic moment before he returned to work, George shoved his face into his pillow and pretended the world outside didn't exist.
--
By the time George felt brave enough to leave his room, it had been many hours since the sun had set, the only light in his room coming from his computer screen.
He tepidly stepped out of his room, avoiding which floorboards creaked loudly, as he crept his way to the kitchen. Running on instinct, he set the kettle off and started putting together a cup of tea, moving through the cramped space with a practised ease, illuminated only by light from the appliances glowing softly in the dark. As he turned to put the milk back in its spot in the fridge, he almost jumped out of his skin at the sight of figure looming behind him.
"Jesus, Max, you can't just sneak up on people like that!"
Max was stood a few paces away, unmoving, eyes tracking George's movements. He at least had the decency to look a little bit shamed at his creeping, but the effect was somewhat ruined at him laughing at George's full body shudder. "Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." He held up both hands in a peace making action, almost placating. His smile faded and his face bunched up in concentration, eyes flicking between looking at George and the floor, words clearly on the tip of his tongue. George waited with anticipation, heart hammering in his chest. "I wanted to apologise for how I acted earlier. I was unnecessarily rude and taking something out on you and that wasn't fair. And I'm sorry."
George felt any of his residual anger melt away at the other man's apology, unused to seeing him look so unsure. "It's ok, Max. We all have those sorts of days. People can be annoying."
"No, no, not you, it was-" Max cut himself off and ran his hand through his hair, short, spiky strands standing upright and heaved a great sigh. "My dad called me. He's a bit of a dick so we don't really get on. It was actually one of the reasons I was so determined to move over here. He keeps trying to push me to go back to the Netherlands but even that's too close for me."
George felt his hands curl around his mug, as his lips gently parted in surprise. Opposite him, Max was resolutely not looking at him, face turned down towards the floor. George considered his words carefully before he broke the silence that overtook them. "I understand." The words were soft, resulting in Max's head snapping up to meet him, eyes wide. "I was kind of an unplanned child and my father always resented me for it, even if he never said so. It became even worse when I said I didn't want to work on the family farm and instead wanted to live here and keep studying. Add on being gay, too. I see them at Christmas and that's about it."
"Sounds like a dick."
George's lips formed a pout and he cocked his head. "I wouldn't say that exactly-"
"No, you wouldn't, you're too polite."
George felt a laugh slip out involuntarily as he tried to muffle it with the back of his hand, only to fail when he looked at the delighted expression on Max's face. "Ok, well maybe just a little one."
Max gave a halfhearted shrug with a lopsided grin. "Hey, to dads who are dicks."
"To dads who are dicks." George raised his tea in a mock-toast, finishing the last of it and leaving it on the side to be dealt with the following morning. "I should probably actually go to sleep now. Goodnight, Max."
"Goodnight, George. And, I'm sorry again." The soft expression on Max's face made George's stomach flip for reasons he didn't even want to consider. The feeling didn't fade even as they parted ways to their own doors opposite each other.
--
Saturday evening rolled around sooner than George had expected. He had seen little of Max since their late night discussion, a combination of his own hard work and Max's odd hours. Still, any coincidental meetings as one moved past the other were met with small smiles, unusual to them.
As they rolled up to Lando's flat in Brixton, George considered the pair they made standing expectantly at the doorstep. In Max's hand was a bottle of gin, quickly grabbed on the way out when George admonished him, saying they couldn't turn up empty handed. His admonishment continued for the tube journey there, meaning the bottle of wine that he had left on the counter, not straight gin. It was only when he ran out of steam that Max had told him he 'really didn't think Lando was going to care either way'.
George was broken out of his stupor by the door slamming open, music billowing out. In the doorway, stood Lando, grin as wide as the sea as he started beckoning them in, already talking a mile a minute. "Hey, look at you, you guys made it without killing each other! Come in, come in!"
George elbowed Max in his side, gesturing to the cold glass bottle in his hand. "Hey mate, this is for you." Max clasped Lando's hand in greeting and passed over the gin.
"Mint, thanks. Come on, everyone's here already." Lando led them through to his living room, noise raising in volume as they got closer. When they walked in, they were met with a chorus of hellos, and Charles waved a hand at George, gesturing to the empty spot next to him, whilst Max moved towards the kitchen.
As he slid into the empty spot, Charles made no move to create more space for him, resulting in their thighs being pressed tight together. "Ciao, bello." Charles almost purred in his ear, glass of ruby red wine tilting dangerously as he leaned in. "How are you? Are you still being driven
into the ground?"
George huffed out a laugh at his friend, when a drink was placed into his hand, as Max moved past him, sitting on the only available seat opposite them. Watching his retreating back, George slowly took a sip to find it was exactly to his taste. Turning his attention back to Charles, he found him expectantly waiting for a response. "Work is work is work. It's tough sometimes but it's what I chose to do. Though, I do wish Toto actually did some of his own admin sometimes."
Charles made a cooing sound, easy french accent draping across his words. "Poor Georgie, you are too gracious. And too pretty to be so stressed."
Charles's easy, slightly tipsy, flirting forced a sudden bark of laughter out of George, capturing the attention of the room, halting the vibrant background conversation.
"You two look very cosy over there," Lando laughed from where he had draped himself across the back of a sofa, legs pressed against Oscar's shoulders. George felt Max's eyes locked on him and resisted the urge to squirm uncomfortably in his seat. "Honestly Charles, I reckon you could give the man a bit more space than that."
"I don't think he wants to," Lily piped from the corner of the room, gathered with the rest of the girls. With an evil gleam in her eye that George couldn't digest, she continued. "Besides, look at the pair of them. Quite cute, no?"
She turned to Carmen with a meaningful stare. Despite being George's friend first, bonding over late night revision sessions in run down libraries, the other woman seemed to gain the same twinkle as her face suddenly dawned with understanding that George didn't possess. "Oh yes, they make a very cute couple." The smirk on her face as she addressed the room concerned George as well as confused him. Across from him, George had full view of Max's face becoming stormy, hand tightening around the glass he was drinking from, frame tense. Before he could dwell any further on it, his attention was redirected as Charles hooked an arm across his shoulders, knocking their heads together.
"Of course we make a cute couple, look at us. I was just saying to George that he's too pretty to be so stressed all the time. Does he still work late into the night, Max?"
Max had his arms crossed resolutely across his chest. "Sometimes. Probably too much of the time." His tone was sharp, the words delivered in a stunted rhythm.
Feeling pinned under Max's gaze, George shifted in his seat, discreetly moving himself out of Charles's grasp. "Hey, no more work talk. We came here to have a nice time and forget about that."
Gradually the conversation returned and flowed throughout the room. From his stop next to him, Charles suddenly pushed a wine glass into his hand and proceeded to fill it with a bottle George didn't know he had. "Come on cherie, it is the best way to relax. It is good, I know, I brought it myself."
As time passed, George felt himself fall deeper and deeper into the squishy sofa beneath him, as he and Charles continued to drink, determinedly avoiding Max's gaze. The wine was sweet and fruity on his tongue, melting away the tension in his shoulders, and his blood rushed warm and slow through his body, syrupy like honey. George could feel his cheeks turning rosy and his laughs ebbing out of him more easily, as he and Charles dozed like a pair of lazy cats, everything seeming sweet and right with the world in his tipsy state.
George's hazy contentment was broken when the ambient light was suddenly blocked off, casting darkness over him. Looking up, he saw the looming figure of Max stood above him. "George, we're going to go home soon but first eat this and drink." Before George had time to react, a paper plate bearing slices of pizza and a bottle of water were dropped into his lap. George straightened in his seat, as Max walked away back towards the kitchen without another word.
Meeting Charles's eye, he dutifully began to eat but not without a fraught expression. "He seems upset with me."
Charles gave an undignified snort. "Since when are you two not upset with each other?
George gulped down water and resisted the urge to spill how recently they had been the most cohesive pair of roommates going. No sooner had he finished his improvised dinner, Max was back and pulling him up with surprising delicacy from the sofa. As they whisked through their goodbyes, George felt a familiar sensation of worry build in his chest at Max's cool behaviour, the other man communicating only in minute actions. It only continued to grow as the effects of the alcohol faded away in the back of the uber, uncomfortable silence creating an icy atmosphere. George continued to glance at the other man sat next to him but Max kept his head turned, staring at the outside world the entire journey home.
When they arrived in front of their building, the pair got out, George thanking the driver on the way. George felt Max's presence behind him as the other man hurried him through the entrance, into the lift and finally into their flat. It was only when the door was finally locked and Max immediately moved towards his own room, tossing a careless goodnight over his shoulder, that George felt himself explode.
"Max! What the hell is going on? You've been acting strange all evening and now you can't even look at me, let alone speak to me!"
Max froze from where he was stood in the doorway, silhouette illuminated against the dark room, broad shoulders filling the space. Slowly, he turned on the spot, frame rigid and coiled, like an animal that had been backed into a corner. "I've been acting strange, George? I wasn't the one who was sidled up with Charles!" Max spat out Charles's name as though it were a curse, one arm gesturing wildly to the side.
George felt himself gasp and splutter from where he was stood, confusion and defensiveness mixing inside him. "Charles?"
George felt himself focus on Max's mouth as he spoke, lips curling with vermouth around the words, as he took a step closer. "Yes, Charles! The man who was flirting with you all night!"
"Charles would flirt with a wall if you let him. Besides, what does that have to do with anything?" George took his own step forward, leaving little space between the two of them, standing chest to chest. Max turned his head to the side, looking off into the distance, annoyance and something darker, more serious, folded deep into the lines of his face. Feeling a sudden bought of bravery mixed with frustration at the man in front of him, George decided to press on. "Why are you so bothered, Max? So what if Charles was flirting with me, so what if he was being friendly with me, whats it to you-"
George was cut off by a press of lips against his own.
As he felt the kiss deepening, all of the anger seeped out of him and he melted like a marionette that had had it's strings cut. George felt his own hands fly up to grasp at the nape of Max's neck as one arm circled around his waist and a hand buried itself deep into the the caramel curls of his head. Their lips slotting against each other and moved in tandem, tongues colliding, neither willing to give in first. Only when their breath finally ran out did they pull apart, foreheads resting against each other.
Max's hand moved to cradle the side of George's face, eyes flicking up to meet his, breaths coming out in short pants, as though he had just ran a marathon. "This is what it is to me. This is why I am so bothered." Max's voice was wrecked, sending a shiver of arousal down George's spine.
"Since when? We were always at each others throats."
Max huffed out a broken laugh. "It was always you, George. I don't think anyone could ever make me feel as much you do. You had to have known it was always you."
"What, even if what you're feeling is great annoyance?"
Max pushed forward, and sealed their lips together again, softer this time, carrying a certain weight of devotion. "Especially when you're annoying me. Don't ever stop doing that." He murmured in between gentle kisses.
George felt a mischievous grin take over his face as an idea popped into his head unbridled. He gently pulled backwards, turning around in the arms that had moved to circle his waist. "In that case, I'll go call Charles then and ask if he wants to hang out."
Suddenly, George felt his waist be squeezed in tight and his back hit something firm and solid behind him as he was drawn in. Feeling Max's head drop to the junction between his shoulder and neck, he felt his next words growled in his ear. "Don't you dare. I just got you."
Turning to face him, George looked at the Dutch man opposite him with a twinkle in his eye. "You got me, huh?"
Instead of responding, Max just clung tighter as he captured George's lips in another kiss.
--
George Russell
Alex.
You aren't gonna believe this.
But Lily was right.